She leaned forward to kiss him again; his lips instantly responded to her. Then she began to slip away from him. His hand seized her wrist, firmly but not painfully. “You go?” he asked.
“I just need to use the bathroom,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“You all right?”
“I feel much better now.” She smiled to reassure him. “I’ll be right down the hallway, OK?”
“OK,” he said, but she could detect his concern. He no doubt thought the same thing she had that if she left she might not ever return. Still, he let go of her wrist so she could slide off the bed.
She could feel him watch her as she took her first steps. These weren’t nearly as clumsy as she’d feared; her body remembered on its own. At the foot of the bed she gave him a little wave to indicate she was all right, that she didn’t need his help. With deliberate ease, she crept out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom.
From her painful experiences in the past seven years, she knew there were two types of magic spells: those that wore off instantly and those that faded over time. When she turned on the bathroom light, she confirmed this would be one of the latter. It might be hours or even days before it wore off completely, before she was herself again—if it ever truly wore off at all.
She was still Megan Putnam on the outside, at least for the most part. She seized a handful of hair that had turned from platinum to gold, like the Scarlet Knight’s cape. In high school she had wanted to dye her red hair to a color like this to look more like the popular girls. She had gone so far as to buy a package of dye from the drugstore.
Aunt Gladys stopped her before she could use it and confiscated the dye. “Why can’t I?” Emma had asked. “It’s my hair.”
In response, Aunt Gladys took her into the bathroom and turned Emma to face the mirror. Emma saw how much they looked alike, their hair the same coppery shade, although Aunt Gladys had streaks of gray in hers. “It’s not just yours,” Aunt Gladys told her. “It’s part of your heritage, of your family.” She put a hand to her head. “Of my family—and your mother’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Emma said and she did. She knew all about DNA and genes, how certain traits were passed from one generation to the next; she had inherited her coloring from her mother’s side while other attributes like her big feet came from her father’s side. To change these with dye or contacts or plastic surgery would be akin to saying she was ashamed of her heritage, of her family, of her parents.
That heritage was gone, at least for the moment. All that remained were her eyes, which had reverted to their normal sapphire blue color, except for a tiny fleck of yellow in her right eye from when she had bonded with the scarlet armor seven years earlier. The rest of her belonged to someone else, a stranger, all because of—Sylvia.
Emma felt her chest tighten, though not as severely as when she’d thought she was Megan. It was enough to add the faintest whistle to the end of her breaths and to make her feel as if she’d just run up five flights of steps. She sat down on the toilet to rest. As she did, the memories trickled back to her.
“You OK?” Jim asked from the doorway.
She looked up from the toilet and tried to relax so he wouldn’t think she was on the verge of one of Megan’s asthma attacks. “I’m fine,” she said slowly, deliberately. “I’m just worried about my friends. What happened to them?”
“Two women safe,” Jim said. “They at big house. Not sure about man.”
To most people the expression “big house” meant prison, but with Jim she thought it had a more literal meaning. Becky was probably at Dan’s house with someone else: Aggie, Akako, or maybe even Sylvia herself. But then where was Dan? Maybe Sylvia had let him go or maybe she’d never had him in the first place. There was only one way to find out.
***
The first challenge came in that none of her clothes fit, except those she’d worn as Megan, which had become scorched from the fire at the dorm. Emma’s T-shirts fit almost like a nightgown so that for a moment she felt like a child in her mother’s clothes. She tucked in a shirt as best she could into a pair of shorts that she cinched with a belt. She didn’t bother with a bra, Megan’s girlish breasts all but invisible in the oversized shirt. The easiest part came in the shoes. Emma’s were of course much too big, but Becky’s feet were far smaller, enough that they fit comfortably with an extra pair of socks.
She found some of Steve Scherr’s old clothes in Becky’s closet for Jim to wear instead of the torn, scorched, dirty clothes they’d bought just days earlier. She hoped Becky wouldn’t mind this too much. Then again Becky probably had a lot of other things to worry about at the moment.
Once they had both changed, Emma met Jim downstairs. “How we get there?” he asked.
“We’ll take Becky’s car,” Emma said. She grabbed Becky’s spare set of keys from the kitchen and then led Jim to the garage.
Their second challenge was for Emma to drive. She rarely drove anything other than her motorcycle even when she was herself; Megan’s smaller body only compounded the awkwardness she felt when she reached for the pedals. “Make sure your seatbelt is good and tight,” she said. Jim stared at her until she showed him how to buckle the seatbelt.
She backed slowly out of the garage and kept her foot over the brake. With a sigh of relief she made it to the end of the driveway. Then she noticed how empty the street looked, even for ten o’clock at night. More than that, most of the houses seemed dark, except for a few with TVs on. “Where is everyone?” she asked.
“Not sure. Bad things happen,” Jim said. He told her what he’d heard from one of his scouts and what he’d seen while he had carried her from Rampart State to her house. It definitely sounded as if bad things had happened. Sylvia’s handiwork?
She saw these bad things firsthand once they left the historical district to enter the city center near Executive Plaza. Cars were abandoned wherever their owners had stopped them, some without doors from where they’d been torn off. Emma made her way slowly through the street; she turned to see a National Guard Hummer at the corner, a soldier behind the .50-caliber machine gun on top. The soldier’s eyes met hers and then he motioned for her to move along.
Whatever had happened must be really bad for the National Guard to have taken up defensive positions in the city. What had Sylvia been up to in Emma’s absence? No, it wasn’t Sylvia; it was whoever had blackmailed Sylvia to take the armor from her. TriTech. Emma thought back to the security in the building. What did they have hidden? She would have to find out, but not until she met with Becky at Dan’s house. She might be able to tell Emma what had happened and then maybe they could find a way to stop it.
It took two hours to cross the city to Dan’s house. During that time, Emma heard about the multiple bombings on the radio. Various terrorist groups in the Middle East and Afghanistan were named as the likeliest suspects, but Emma knew better. The terrorists in this case were probably right in the middle of the city, housed in an ordinary building, disguised as an ordinary high-tech firm.
The violence and chaos had not made its way to Dan’s house on the northwest side of the city. When she pulled up to Dan’s house, her stomach fluttered nervously to find the gates open; one dangled as if someone had smashed into it with a vehicle or maybe used a small explosive. Though Sylvia could have done this, Emma doubted it—why would the witch need to worry about a gate when she could simply vanish herself into the house?
Emma drove slowly up the driveway, no longer because of her unfamiliarity with Megan’s body or the car. Jim had said earlier that two women were safe in the house, but that had been hours ago. How recently had someone smashed the front gate open? She wished she’d thought to bring some kind of weapon, though in her present condition she doubted she would be much good in a fight.
She saw lights on the second floor. More ominously, the front door was wide open. As she came to a stop by the front steps, she noted the front door was in almost the same condition a
s the gate, as if someone had broken in. Were there still intruders in the house?
Jim fumbled with his seatbelt for a moment and then hopped out of the vehicle, not too concerned about any problems. She stayed behind him; she was short enough at the moment for him to completely shield her. At the front door he called out in ratspeak to identify himself. Emma’s chest tightened a little as she waited to see what would happen. Had the intruders killed Jim’s rats? Had they killed Emma’s friends?
The former question was answered by a familiar squeak. Pepe slunk across the foyer to greet the royal couple. Were it possible, he would have bowed to them. Never in her life had Emma been so happy to see the huge rat with the silver stripe before. She bent down to pat his head as if he were a pet dog. “I missed you too,” she said in English, which Jim translated. Ratspeak required precise enunciation that at the moment she didn’t want to try with Megan’s vocal chords. The rat didn’t make any comment on how different she looked, but then again he didn’t see colors and his perception of size would be skewed with his low height. “Where are the others?”
Pepe indicated two women were upstairs while “the invaders” were down in the cellar. “Invaders?” Emma asked and Jim translated. From what Pepe said, a group of men had shown up some time ago. Pepe and his contingent arrived at nearly the same time to prevent any harm to Emma’s friends.
She decided “the invaders” could wait until later. For right now she hurried down the hallway for the stairs; she remembered the layout of Dan’s house from previous visits. Jim followed behind her with Pepe, both a step behind her.
She threw open the door to the master bedroom. There she saw Becky on a chair beside Dan’s bed, reading The Tempest. “‘Methinks our garments are now as fresh as when we put them on first in Afric, at the marriage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the King of Tunis.’” Becky stopped to turn to the doorway. Her eyes narrowed as she studied her friend. “Emma?”
“It’s me. Barely.”
Becky tossed the book onto the nightstand and rushed over to crush Emma in a hug. “My God, what did she do to you?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” Emma ran a hand through her blond hair. “It was some kind of potion that made me think I was someone else—a missing student of mine.”
“Jesus Christ. That crazy bitch. If I see her again, I’m going to rip out her goddamned throat. I don’t care what kind of potions she throws at me. Even if—”
Emma put a hand on her friend’s arm. It felt strange for her to look up at Becky after so many years of looking down to meet her eyes. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. I hope.”
“You hope?”
“Well, it’s worn off a little already. Maybe it just needs time.”
“Yeah, let’s hope.” Becky shook her head sadly. “So if you thought you were this missing kid, how did you end up here?”
“Jim found me.”
“Jim?” Becky looked over Emma’s shoulder, where Jim stood behind her. “Oh, right. Jim.” Becky took a step forward and held out her hand. Jim shook it warily, as if he sensed a trap. “I’m Becky. Your friends here saved our lives.”
“You welcome,” Jim said.
While Becky and Jim exchanged pleasantries, Emma took a step towards the bed to see who the other missing woman was. Most of the woman was covered by blankets, so she could see only a slender hand that for some strange reason wore a man’s wedding ring. When she got closer to the bed, Emma saw the woman’s face. Her eyes narrowed as Becky’s had when Emma came into the room. The curly brown hair, slightly bulbous nose, and strong chin all seemed vaguely familiar, but not on a woman.
The woman continued to sleep peacefully as Emma took her hand. Emma slipped off the man’s wedding ring and held it up to the light. The writing was tiny, but she could make out the words: To Daniel, May Our Love Last All Eternity. Love, Isis. “Oh no,” Emma said, dropping the ring to the floor. “Dan?”
***
Emma dropped onto the chair Becky had occupied and put a hand to her chest, which once more had begun to tighten. Her breathing turned to ragged gasps punctuated by violent wheezes as she struggled for air. Jim was at her side a moment later to kneel beside her. “Emma? I here. You safe now.”
“Jim…it’s Dan. That woman,” Emma said. She tried to calm herself down, to relax her body as she’d learned to do as the Scarlet Knight, but it didn’t work. She looked over Jim’s shoulder to see Dan still in bed; he looked so pretty. Why had Sylvia done this to him? What if he never changed back? How could he—she—explain this sudden sex change to the Plaine Museum? To his friends?
This was why she had sent Dan away seven years ago. As much as she loved him, she couldn’t bear the thought he would get caught up in her new life as the Scarlet Knight. Her worst fear had been that she would fail him, that he would die because of her, as her parents had. He wasn’t really dead, but if the spell didn’t wear off, if he stayed this way, then he would be dead, forced to start a new life because Emma had failed to stop Sylvia.
“My fault,” she said between gasps.
Jim took her narrow jaw in his hands to look her in the eye. “Not you fault,” he said. “You not do this.”
“I didn’t…stop it.” She tried to turn away, but Jim refused to let her go and she was too weak at the moment to break his grip. “I failed.”
“Not fail,” he said. “You save me.” Before she could say anything, he kissed her. At first she tried to resist, but then gave in. The tightness in her chest eased and her airways relaxed.
When Jim pulled back, Emma found she could breathe again. She also found her T-shirt only one size too big instead of three. She had to kick off Becky’s shoes to free her enlarged feet. Jim pulled a tress of her hair forward so she could see it was now strawberry blond. “You get better,” he said.
“I am. Thanks to you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and then kissed him gently on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear.
Only then did she become aware of Becky’s presence. Her friend stared at her and looked almost as pale as Megan Putnam. Then Becky turned and fled. Emma called after her, but Becky didn’t stop. “Go,” Jim said. “I watch friend.”
“Thanks.” She leaped up from the chair and hurried after Becky, who rushed down the stairs. Emma’s legs were long enough now for her to catch up with her friend in the ballroom. “Becky, wait!”
Becky turned around; tears streamed down her face. “It’s not fair,” she said.
“What isn’t fair? Becky, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? You have to ask?” She pointed towards the ceiling. “Dan is up there, like that, and you’re making out with the goddamned Sewer Rat, that’s what!”
“His name is Jim,” Emma said quietly.
“What?”
“His name is Jim Rizzard. Not the Sewer Rat.”
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a difference to me.”
“Right, because you love him. Since when?”
“I didn’t know for sure until recently, until he brought me back.”
Becky shook her head. “What a fucking joke. You’re his true love and you don’t even love him anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The potion Sylvia gave him. It’s a sleeping beauty potion. When his true love kisses him, he’ll wake up.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what she said.”
“No, I mean are you sure I’m the one who has to kiss him?”
“What are you talking about?” Becky asked. Emma fixed her with the same stern look she gave students who whispered or passed notes. Like those students, Becky looked down with shame at the floor. “How long have you known?”
“A year. I saw you kissing outside a restaurant.”
“A year? You’ve known that long and didn’t say anything?”
“I figured you would tell me when you thought the time was right.”
Becky
’s mouth opened as if to say something, but all that came out was a strangled sob. She sagged forward to wrap Emma in a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into Emma’s ear. “I wanted to tell you, but I thought you’d hate me.”
“I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.”
Becky pulled back a little so Emma could see her smile sadly. “Some best friend I turned out to be. Stealing your man like some floozy on Jerry Springer.” Becky wiped at her hands and then turned her eyes back to the floor. “I was going to break it off like I said, but I couldn’t. We got talking and we just—clicked. You know?”
“I know,” Emma said. She thought of the day she and Jim had spent together on the surface, how relaxed and comfortable she’d felt around him in a way she never had with Dan.
“You’re not too mad, are you?”
“I wish you would have been honest with me. We’ve known each other for too long to let secrets come between us.”
“It won’t happen again. I promise.” They hugged again to seal the deal, as they’d done since they were kids whenever anything came between them. By the time they finished, Emma found herself once more looking down at Becky; her T-shirt fit snugly and her bare feet had unfurled to their full length. “Looks like you’re you again.”
“I guess so.”
“We’d better go upstairs and see if I can wake up Sleeping Beauty.” She smiled at this. “I never thought of myself as a Prince Charming before.”
“They come in all sizes,” Emma said. She thought of Jim, her noble prince.
Apparently Becky was thinking of him too. As they went back upstairs, she asked, “So you and the Sewer Rat—Jim—did you just kiss?”
Emma looked down at her bare feet. “No.”
“Oh my God, you’re serious. You did it? You?”
“It’s not that surprising.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I thought you were…saving yourself. For marriage or something like that.”
“It just kind of happened.”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis Page 58
